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 ï>¿My First Marriage by FishMan

   Installment #8: Wednesday -- Naked for a Customer

   The third day wearing this same dress that week really bothered me, and
still she did not wear pantyhose, and again she wore white socks and penny
loafers.  She put on more make-up than usual, like she was going out on
date.  Mascara, and rouge and the candy-red lipstick she wore to church or
when we went out. When I dropped her off, I told her I really didn't like
her working late so much.  She looked conflicted about it, like she might
cry.  I asked whether she was worried about losing her job, if she did not
do this extra work.  She nodded. I said: "I thought Mr.  Miller liked you?"
"He does," she admitted, "But. . . ." I waited and she added, actually
looking toward the shop anxiously, "I just don't know if I am what he
wants. Or if I am really the right girl for what he wants.  I don't know.
But don't talk to him." She turned to me.  "Don't tell him what I said.  I
don't want him to think that I . . .  " It was such an odd conversation
when I think of it now.  I still do not really know what she was thinking.
She seemed so conflicted in her feelings.  I think she worried what they
were going to make her do.  But she did not even admit this to herself. Bob
said the next few of days were all about getting her ready for the "big
event" they had begun planning for her for the weekend, for the days she
was supposed to be at the shop doing inventory.  Setting her up.  Getting
her used to certain demands that they intended to put on her was the plan;
otherwise, what they demanded might shock her and she might resist too
much; she might even breakdown emotionally, and that could cause some of
the men who were going to be brought to use her to have qualms about what
they were doing to her.  Her embarrassment and girlish modesty about
getting naked in front of a group of men, and some resistance to the things
they would coax her to do, they expected, perhaps even desired; because her
reluctance and her shame was part of the pleasure they would feel in seeing
her do these things.  They wanted her to succumb to her own humiliating
pleasure at her sexual coercion.  But they worried.  She was so naive.  She
was so repressed. They wanted her to become aroused by the things they made
her do.  So they needed to prepare her to do things like it, to bring her
gradually to surrender herself to things that she might normally balk at
doing, that might shock her or disgust her at the thought of, but which
being sexually aroused and being humiliated she should submit to shamefully
but willingly.  They needed to force her mildly to do things more and more
humiliating, more and more sexually intense, so that she would yield to the
most extreme and sexually intense coercions they intended, ones that had
gotten more extreme and sexually intense by their fantasies and plans as
the week went on. Their fantasies had gotten extreme and out of control
ever since the previous week.  Every night at the bar Miller would come
down and tell his stories.  At the first, when he had started seducing her
and had bragged about how he felt her up and so on, he only had told Bob.
But Bob had told a few of their mutual friends after Miller swore she had
masturbated him.  And then Bob freely confided in the regular crowd how
Miller had bragged that this girl he had working for him, this young wife
-""You've seen her," he'd suggest -"let him strip her of all her clothes,
right there in the shop, and had given him a blow job, kneeling naked while
he sat his workbench.  In the main, no one believed it. Bob said he'd like
to see the truth for himself and had Miller arrange to coerce her to
stripping out in front of the shop after closing so that he could come by
and peek in to see her there -"proof of his conquest.  That very night
then, Bob and Miller came in triumphantly and Bob gave free drinks to the
crowd of regulars and told them how, yes, indeedy, he had seen Karen
stripped and completely naked himself and had even fucked her.  "Fucked her
twice," he was proud to tell those who listened.  So by the last weekend
there was a group of friends, a dozen and more middle-aged men just like
themselves who hung out at the bar rather than go home to their own wives,
who knew all about what was going on and were egging on Miller to share my
wife with them. One of these men was that customer who had come in and got
a peep at her with her zipper down, had got a glimpse of the side of her
dangling tit as she leaned over in the window, and a bit of her bare butt.
And there had been others, Karen had noticed, who had come in
window-shopping and idly ogling her.  They made her uncomfortable.  She had
to wait for them while they seemed to be there just to give her smirks and
stares.  Some of them coming in pairs or threes and making dirty jokes she
did not quite hear.  After the incident on Monday, they wanted her to step
around so they could see from behind if her zipper was pulled down.  Miller
had told them all that he was making her come to work with nothing on
beneath her dress. So the crowd of them who knew about it or heard about it
grew over the week and they had to make plans for two days, and not just
the Saturday, because Miller worried that having too many at once would
frighten her and he needed to coax her to cooperate or nothing would
happen. And he told them they must pay.  He was going to get a hundred from
each, Bob told me, and after all he was going to lose bar business for it.
He gave Karen twenty of each hundred, which is actually what led me to find
out about all this, finding a bundle of twenty-dollar bills, and
confronting her.  That, and the one otherreallystrange discovery that I
happened to make that Sunday morning when she got out of bed. Their
fantasies and plans got more and more pornographic in what they wanted to
see her do.  And Miller and Bob got swept up in it; the whole group of them
like a bunch of dogs after a bitch in heat, like I said before, excited
each other with the ideas that came out, nasty ideas, ideas that they might
have been too inhibited to express, except that they fueled one another
feverishly.  This was in any case the fantasy of fantasies: the blackmailed
young housewife, coerced to sexual surrender. This was a time of strange
ferment in America.Penthousemagazine was publishing "letters" from men
about submitting their wives to the sexual humiliation of other men's
pleasure.  Vile pornography had gotten easy to find and it showed things
these men had only heard rumored and nobody had ever seen such things live.
It showed young girls, girls my wife's age, submitting to things they could
not even tell their wives about, let alone ask them to do.  In these days
of the early 1970's, all sorts of taboos were being broken in America.  And
men who were Mr.  Miller's age and Bob's age, men in their late fifties,
vets of the War, angry about dirty hippies, and yet envious of them, and
frightened of the way things were going, yet also wishing they could get a
piece of it before they were too old to get it up, who felt their own
virility slipping, who sensed that girls my wife's age no longer wanted men
as old as them, whose half-hard penises (if they could get erections at
all) waggled like a cooked sausage under pot bellies, who lived with fat
wives bored with sex and cold to them and whom they no longer wanted
anyway, thinking about vulnerable young girls while they saw their own
daughters grew up and got perky little titties and their daughter's
girlfriends traipsing about in their skimpy clothes, they dreamt of a
chance like this one, of getting some promiscuous college girl, or like
this case -"the best fantasy of all -"a blackmailed young wife like mine,
coerced by her shame to submit and surrender to their lewd fantasies and be
abused and humiliated as she was going to be. That was what this was going
to be.  Karen would be blackmailed.  She had to do what they wanted, or
they would tell me all about it.  They would threaten to send me the
pictures.  They would see that her father found out.  They would threaten
to send him pictures maybe.  She would have to do it. Mr.  Miller and Bob
were not monsters.  They did not intend anything but satisfaction of lush
sexual feelings which they believed she shared and which they saw in her
response to them, even if by coercion.  And it was coercion.  They would
make it plain to her that if she did not do what they told her to do, her
husband would find out and they had photos to show him.  The coercion
aggravated the lust they felt and in this rare case it met and aroused her
own sexual feelings, which relished her coerced submission, and made her
especially vulnerable to the things they would want her to do.  It was a
coincidence of her exploited repressed sexual feelings and their pent-up
lechery; all these men caught up in their lurid fantasies and she also. 
They did things to her they might never have imagined doing to a girl
against her will.  Compulsion got hold of them -"and her too -"and they fed
on her response -"her arousal, humiliation, surrender -" these all fed
their fantasies; and her arousal, humiliation and surrender fed on their
fantasies.  They all were consumed in this compulsive sexual intensity.
This day then, Wednesday, Miller had arranged for Bob to come after work
and had reminded Karen even when she came in and started setting up for the
day.  He watched her putting out the trays, putting the displays in the
windows, setting up the till and so on and told her how he'd talked to Bob
and said he should come by later on, sometime after lunch and before he
went to the bar, and he had not told him what to expect but he told her now
that he wanted her take off her clothes for him and masturbate in front of
him.  He said: "You can stop when he sees you cum." She blushed furiously
at this and that amused Miller. When she was done with the chores, he had
her open the door and told her to watch the shop, that he had work in the
back to do, but before he left her, he turned her about to face the shop
front and unzipped her dress to the bottom, revealing her underpants.  And
as instructed she wore nothing else underneath.  He put a hand inside her
dress and reached around to the front of her to fiddle with her nipples,
causing them to show pointy under the front of her dress. Satisfied, he
told her she was to leave her zipper down all day long.  She said nothing
to this. It was not a busy day. If customers came in, Miller stepped to the
door to see and watch her handle them.  Most of the time they were helped
behind the counter and she had no occasion to step out where they might
see. But twice -"once a young couple and once a middle-aged man -"wanted to
see an item from the display window so she was obliged to step out and
reach into the window and undoubtedly they saw how she was revealed in
back. The young lady nudged her young man and suppressed her giggles.  The
middle-aged man seemed pleasantly surprised and smiled at Mr.  Miller who
winked at him.  He had her go to the window three times and bought nothing
in the end. Having found her submissive and obedient, he called her into
the office where he sat at his workbench and told her they would not close
for lunch that day and she could eat in the back later on.  As he dismissed
her he told to turn about and he lifted her dress to look at her underpants
and drew them out to peer at her buttock and put his hand in to feel her
pussy -""let's just see how wet you are." He said: "Yeah.  I thought so."
And let the elastic snap back, and then tucked the back of her skirt into
the back of her underpants, telling her she was to leave it just as it was
until he told her otherwise. He had her take off her shoes and he put them
away in a drawer in his workbench. Once again he sent her to the front of
the store and as before if he heard the bell he came out to see who it was,
but this time if the customer was a woman or a couple he assisted so that
she should not be embarrassed in front of them.  He told her after helping
a woman choose earrings, that he would let her serve the men who were his
age. I doubt that the man who came in a little after noon was one of those
who had heard the tales at the bar.  The way things happened it does not
seem like it and she said she never saw him again. Karen told me little
about the things that happened in the store this week.  She admitted to not
wearing underwear and to sucking Mr.  Miller's cock and she confided this
and the other incident in which some male customer got a peep show.  Bob
told me everything else. Bob came in the shop just after this incident and
so he knew about it and added details.  His version was a little different
than hers.  I'll explain. She told me that when he came in Mr.  Miller told
her to help him and she walked to the other side of the store to greet him
at the counter and felt as she did that he must have seen how her skirt was
hiked behind her, being askew at the front of her, and showing her
underpants.  She knew she blushed, and she felt ashamed of herself because
he grinned and seemed wordless for a moment then pointed to the item he
wanted to see.  She brought out its tray for him. Mr.  Miller offered that
he had others like it in back if wanted to see them.  He was not
responsive, and seemed uncertain, but Mr.  Miller said: "Karen, go back and
get the gentlemen the tray of opal rings." Then, if he had not seen her
underpants showing, he certainly did now, and Karen said she felt so
ashamed that she did not want to return and told me: "I didn't know what I
should do." I thought to myself what I thought she should do, but she did
not do it.  She did what Mr.  Miller told her and returned with the tray
just as he had told her and did not fix her dress. Mr.  Miller closed the
sale as Karen stood beside him and then asked: "You would like it gift
wrapped, surely." And before he could reply, he put the ring box in Karen's
hand and said: "Do you know where the wrapping paper is?  I will show you.
Excuse us a minute." He guided Karen into the office.  Of course she knew
where the wrapping paper was.  It was a common task.  But here is where the
stories diverge.  Karen does not tell as Bob told me how once she was in
the office Mr.  Miller watched over her as she wrapped the ring box and
then before she finished he explained what he expected of her.  She said
nothing to object, so Bob said.  She faced him placidly as he explained and
looked sarcastically at her discomfort and explained to her he wanted her
to get used to doing this and drew her dress forward off her shoulders and
let it fall to the floor so she that stood before him now wearing nothing
but her underpants and socks.  He put his hands on her breasts and felt her
nipples, though he need not do it to stimulate them; she was already
affected by the anticipation. He leaned and licked her nipples so that they
shone wet with his saliva and said: "I will call you when I am ready " He
went back to the front to complete the transaction of the sale, apologizing
for being away, saying that Karen is nice young lady but easily distracted:
"She just got married . . .  you know how it is," winking at the man. The
man looked at him in such a way that Mr.  Miller responded with a laugh:
"O, no, not me.  Wish it were.  But no." The man and Mr.  Miller waited for
her.  Finally, Mr.  Miller said: "Young lady, are you ready yet?" That was
her cue and my wife came out -- half-dressed as she was -- in just her
underpants and socks.  The man surprised but obviously pleased by the
surprise, to find my wife hold the present for him with her breasts exposed
to him, jiggling as she approached, her fine long legs, her underpants
showing the shape and shade of the dark triangle of pussy hair.  And the
look on her face -- flushed, embarrassed, looking away in her embarrassment
but faintly smiling.  She shyly held out the box for him and of course he
did not immediately take it, ogling her tits, eyes riveting to those
swollen spit-licked wine-red nipples, and stammering his thank you.  She
held it out for him, but he did not take it.  He stared at her obscene
tits. She put it on the counter and turned back to the workroom and sat on
a stool to wait for Mr.  Miller.  She did not attempt to dress. Karen
herself did tell me this much.  But she was too ashamed to tell what else
happened.  How after a few minutes Mr.  Miller came in with the gentleman
and she stood up, covering her breasts with her hands reflexively. Bob
tells this part.  And he tells it with keen details Mr.  Miller must have
given him. Standing with the man at the door of the workroom, both of them
edging more and more into the room, Mr.  Miller coaxed her: "Karen?  The
gentleman thanks you very much for your showing him your lovely tits," and
nodded toward her hands, which she submissively dropped to let him see
again, thinking this is what he wanted. "Yes, dear, thank you, but might he
. . .  he wants to know . . .  might you show him the rest of you?" They
were both full in the room.  He continued: "Drop your underpants for him.
He'd like to see your pussy too.  Will you do that, sweetie?" The customer
was nonplussed and almost spoke to protest but smiled at Miller who winked
at him and said to Karen: "Oh, Hell, just take 'em off altogether." And
turning to the customer: "Okay?" Karen was flustered and blushed but was
without voice.  It should have been obvious to the customer that she was
uncomfortable and unwilling, but Mr.  Miller explained her reluctance: "She
doesn't want her husband to know what she does." The man laughed: "I should
imagine." "She is very pretty, though, don't you think?" The man nodded
enthusiastically. Karen put her hands to her tummy and felt along the
waistband and then ran her hands smoothly on the sides of her underpants.
She hesitated.  "Mr.  Miller." "Yes, dear?" "I don't . . .  " The customer
stared at her breasts and still she hesitated, running her fingertips back
and forth along the waistline of her underpants. Mr.  Miller said: "Tell
you what?  Will you give her five dollars to take off her underpants?" Bob
tells that the man reached into his pockets and found money and gave it to
Mr.  Miller who put it in his pocket and nodded at her and that she looked
at him worriedly but put her fingers into the waistband of her underpants,
turned her head aside so that she did not have to see his gaze (although
she peeked to see) and pushed her underpants to the floor, stepped out of
them, stepped to the side and straightened up, obviously embarrassed or
ashamed, but wiped the hair from her face, glanced at him intensely, if
sadly, and then when his eyes engaged hers, she turned away from his gaze.
So naturally his gaze fell to her body.  Naked, but for her socks.  And of
course her wedding ring.  Which she brought to his attention now, because
she had not known what to do with her hands as she stood naked for him and
had brought clasped hands to the front of her, on her tummy near her navel,
and she was nervously turning the wedding ring about her ring finger with
the fingers of her other hand, as she glanced at him furtively.  And this
struck him poignantly because he was buying a gift for his own wife.  He
wondered what she was thinking -"undressing herself for a stranger, a young
wife, just married.  Why?  Was she thinking of her husband?  Was he the
reason she was doing this?  She looked like she was in trouble.  He felt
sorry for her.  But he also enjoyed seeing her naked, and she did not
protest.  She did not cry or resist.  She must want to do this, he thought.
Mr.  Miller said: "Give us a little turn, honey.  Show him everything." She
bit her upper lip, showing the edge of her teeth.  She does this when she
is worried.  Like when she is driving in rush hour traffic. She turned and
Mr.  Miller bid her turn more slowly.  So she slowly turned, and she paused
so the man could see her naked from the side and from behind, as Mr. 
Miller directed, then she turned slowly to face him again when she was
told. She diverted her gaze from his in her embarrassment.  She paused now
at length for him to be fully satisfied in seeing her naked; it seemed a
very long time, while the man grinned and expressed his amazement and asked
her full name (which Mr.  Miller made her say himself) and her marital
status (married--just one year) and her age (20, almost 21 -- which again
she was required to say for herself).  He studied her more, then asked
Miller if she did this all the time, to which Mr.  Miller honestly replied
he was her first customer, and so at length he sighed and thanked Mr. 
Miller for the "good service," saying he would certainly like to come
again. Then he looked at Karen once more, as she stood naked, arms limply
at her side, hands flat on her thighs. Her gaze now rose plaintively to his
avid staring, following his eyes as they moved over the sexual portions of
her body, and he sighed again and shook his head ironically and said: "And
thankyou,young lady." Karen looked down and slowly turned away and as they
watched she leaned and picked up her underpants, held them open and stepped
into them and drew them up her legs, aware of their gaze even as they made
small talk and again studied how her tits hung when she leaned and took up
her dress from the floor and held it open and stepped into it and drew it
up her body.  She turned and zipped it as she saw them turn and leave the
room. Mr.  Miller got her shoes out of the drawer and set them on the
counter for her. As she came out Mr.  Miller was just escorting the
customer out of the door.  She slipped on her shoes. He turned and waved
goodbye to her, smiling as he left. I have often thought of this encounter
and how I would have felt about it if I were that customer.  I guess I
would have treated it the same, but I am guessing that having Karen pull
down her underpants was Mr.  Miller's idea and not his.  I would not have
thought of it if I had been him, but then again I would not have refused to
participate if the jeweler suggested that the young lady would drop her
underpants if I wanted.  I am sure I would have wanted to see her naked,
just as he did.  But now here was another man -"the third -"whom my wife
had stripped for, and just two weeks previous I was the only man who had
ever seen her naked or touched her naked or kissed her as they did or
fucked her, and as I say she had sucked their cocks even before she ever
did mine.  Something was happening to her.  She was changing.  She did not
know it or understand it.  I knew it.  I saw it.  But I did not understand
it either. Mr.  Miller embraced her and turned her about and unzipped her
dress again, all the way to the bottom, and slipped both his hands under
the elastic of her underpants, slipping his fingers over her cool buttock,
and feeling with his fingers to pry and test her for the slush of her
vagina, and said: "Yes . . .  See?" "I wonder," he said withdrawing his
hands and holding her before him by her shoulders.  He looked at her wryly:
"I have a nephew.  He is twelve, or eleven.  And he's never seen a woman
without her clothes on.  Maybe?  " She looked horrified, I am told.  He
kissed her seriously and seriously said.  "I think you would like it.  He
won't do anything . . .  well . . .  maybe touch you some, you know." He
laughed to recall her expression, as he told Bob about it later.  "I don't
even have a nephew," he admitted to him. But he teased my wife, saying: "I
can have my sister drop him off from school---maybe him, and just a couple
of his friends, you know, for a little peep show?" She did not say
anything. She did not tell him no.  But she burst into tears. "Nerves," as
Bob would call it. Mr.  Miller soothed her: "Okay, not now.  Later.  There
. . .  there . . .  don't get so upset.  I really love you.  I am thinking.
I want you to be my partner.  I have no daughter, no son.  You and your
husband you can inherit my business.  I can retire and you can run it. 
There . . .  there." And he kissed her warmly, kissed her tears and she
smiled, nodding. He said: "Okay....  Go out and get some lunch," and patted
her bottom as she turned.



   Installment #9: Wednesday (Continued)-- Bob Comes Back for a Purpose

   But before she could leave, Bob came into the shop.  Mr.  Miller nodded
as he entered.  Karen felt sick with anticipation. Bob said: "Hello, sweet
tits," Bob said, giving my wife a look like he could see through her
clothes.  He looked at watch and said: "Okay, What you want, Al?  I should
get back to the bar." Miller said: "I want to show you something." Bob
said: "Yeah?" "Go in back.  I'll be there in a minute." Mr.  Miller
repeated to Karen that she should go for lunch and walked her to the door
and whispered: "When you get back you can do what I told you, remember?"
She remembered. She walked in a daze.  She thought of how the man looked at
her: his eyes drilling at her nipples when she walked out in front of him
wearing nothing but her underpants and her bobby socks, holding his ring
box, never lifting her eyes to his even as she held out the box to him,
feeling his eyes on her bare breasts; and then turning, ashamed, coming
into the backroom; how she stood up and how she dropped her hands again so
he could see her breasts, and his eyes following her submission as she
removed her underpants for him, to be completely naked for him, his eyes on
all of her.  She played the scene over and over in her imagination.  This
had been more intensely sexual even than the first instance when Mr. 
Miller had undressed her.  Because this time she had taken off all her
clothes for someone, in front of someone, whom she did not know.  She did
this to please Mr.  Miller, she said to herself.  But she also knew she had
wanted this man to see her naked.  She wanted to be naked for him.  She
felt a strange gnawing in the pit of her stomach.  Her pulse raced.  She
felt like she might faint.
Someone actually stopped her in the street out of concern and asked her
if she was all right.  She went into the cafeteria but did not feel hungry
and could not decide what to take from the line.  She felt too anxious to
eat, thinking about the scene compulsively, thinking of how she felt as his
eyes fixed on her nakedness--that strange gnawing.  She picked at the salad
she had taken.  She drank her Coca-Cola.  She looked at her watch.  She had
been gone half an hour.  Mr.  Miller was always punctual.  She did not want

to go back. This much Karen confided.  She did not initially tell me about
the rest of the day.  And initially when she confessed this incident with
the customer, she had only admitted walking out in her underpants, showing
him her bare breasts.  She had not admitted to me how she went back in the
office and then stripped herself completely for this man until after I
learned about it from Bob and went back home and confronted her with
everything I had learned.  Then she confessed to all the details I have
told.  But more importantly, she confessed herfeelings. Bob had told me
about the visual and factual details of this incident with the customer
because Mr.  Miller had told him as soon as he came in, and Bob was a keen
observer and had a vivid imagination.  Bob had told me too about the rest
of what happened that day and the next and the next.  Those things that led
up the "big event." And of course with pictures and graphic details he told
me about the "big event." But my real understanding and the way I am going
to explain all that happened is based not just on what Bob said, how he saw
it or what others told him, and of course the pictures he showed me, but
how Karen said shefeltand how she looked at these men doing these things to
her.  Their coercion and schemes were only half of it.  What she was
thinking is more important. This is important in the difference of what
happened with this customer too, and how he saw her.  From his point of
view, outwardly, she had been embarrassingly exposed in a state of awkward
dress, but obviously she had meant to be displayed and humiliated in this
way for some reason.  Outwardly, it seemed to him, she had deliberately
removed her dress and entered the open shop wearing nothing but her
underpants and socks (and her wedding ring), because she wanted him to see
her that way, but she had an ambiguous look on her face, a look at once
pathetic and curious, unhappy and concupiscent.  In short, he was not sure
she really wanted to do this. So in part because of that mystery, he had
followed Mr.  Miller into the backroom at his wink and coaxing, and
admittedly he was himself sexually piqued and very curious even while a bit
embarrassed for her sake.  And when Miller told her that the customer
wanted her to take off her underpants, he had wanted it, but in fact he
hadnotasked for it, and he felt badly that the pretty young wife looked so
distressed and yet shediddrop her hands then to let him see her tits again;
something was going on here he did not understand.  The absurd notion that
he would give her boss five dollars to take off her underpants must be a
joke, but he did find the money in his pocket, and shedidtake off her
underpants.  And when she did, something in the way she looked at him
showed that this was something she really wanted.  If she was compelled, it
was her own sexual compulsion.  He had never seen anything like this look
in a woman in his entire life.  He had seen the look in the faces of
teenage boys poring over pornography they found in the woods, but never in
a woman.  It was raw. Because something happened to Karen when she went to
lunch -"or really because something happened to her when she was presented
naked to that customer, when she willingly took off her underpants for him
-"Karen herself confessed something inside of her changed.  She felt a
craving fascination now with her own sexual feelings, and now she would
have a period of several days where she saw herself and everyone intensely
sexually.  She would look at men's crotches and wonder about what their
erections looked like.  She would think of being seen naked by a man whom
she saw sitting opposite her on the bus.  She would think that boys who
watched her walking by near our apartment, boys she knew from the
neighborhood, would want to see her undress, like Mr.  Miller said his
nephew would.  She would think about what she would do if they asked. 
Sitting at the lunch table she had a compulsion to put her hand between her
legs and squeezed her hand between her thighs and pressed on her mons and
felt a strong sharp shivery twinge and a warm rinsing pleasure and she
wanted to feel it again.  It may have been the first time she really had an
orgasm by masturbation, though still not in any abandonment, after all she
was in a public place.  But it was the first. And her orgasm surprised and
was special in another way.  She had not felt this sensation before; she
felt herself wet between the legs, like she had soiled her panties.  She
went to bathroom and found when she wiped herself after peeing that she had
produced a viscous fluid, creamy as sperm.  She was shocked.  She had never
remembered this.  When she cleaned herself after we had intercourse she had
assumed it was my ejaculate she saw on the toilet paper.  She smelled it.
It smelled different than a man.  She tasted it and it was mild, not
pungent like a man's sperm, which was tangy and salty; her own cum, she
thought, tasted like exotic mushrooms, like oyster mushrooms or something
wilder. I should tell you about Bob.  I met Bob even before this all
happened.  He has a neighborhood bar in a part of town that the suburbs
left behind.  The men who go to it had been going to it since they came
home from the war.  Bob himself had been in Germany and had stories.  He
had told me about going into German towns and taking thefrauleinsand doing
things to them.  I had felt uncomfortable.  He figured they deserved it. 
The other men around him thought so too.  All vets, and all of them were my
father's age.  But unlike my dad who had made it in the world, these guys
had gotten left behind, stuck in the old neighborhood in dead-end jobs,
which even then were getting shipped overseas; some of them already on
disability or early retirement.  They spent most days talking about the
good times of the past and what was wrong with kids and "niggers" -"I know
that is offensive but that is the way they talked.  And they were fat and
aging and balding; and some of them were mean unhappy men.  Bob could be
really mean. The irony of this whole story is that I knew Bob, and I knew
some of the men who got involved, although I had not known Mr.  Miller
until after Karen was hired to work for him.  I had come into the bar a few
times because it was in the neighborhood where my own Dad grew up and my
uncle lived, and not too far from the high school I had attended and met
Karen.  At least once I had taken my wife with me and some had met her
before this all happened, although I don't think many recalled that.  They
had treated her politely and shyly, like men of that age usually do, like a
little lady.  But her blackmail would change all that and I think only a
few remembered having met her. By the time that Saturday rolled around,
they all knew me, and they all knew it was my wife they were going to
"see." I had, just by chance, been by the bar that Friday night, waiting
for my wife.  But I will tell you about that in due course. Bob is bigger
by a foot over Miller and my wife, and burly like a football player.  And
if his shoe size hints at the size of his dick, this guy wore size 14. 
When I found out he'd doggy fucked her, I felt jealous, because I could
never shove such a length and girth up her cunt as I know he did -"and I
saw pictures -"and so I believed it when he said it made her grunt, and he
bragged that she "lost her goddamn mind" with unremitting orgasms when he'd
pounded her ass.  So he advertised. Bob makes a good measure of people, as
bartenders often do; he can size up all types.  My wife, he told me, as he
was thumbing through the pictures of the men fucking her to exhaustion, was
"really a good girl" who just came to be a slut by something she could not
help, not because she was not a good girl morally, but because she thought
she was in love.  And she loved Mr.  Miller, he told me: "Maybe as much as
she loves you." "A woman like this would strip naked and kneel down and
suck his cock and let 'em cum in her mouth.  She'd swallow cum too; she'd
do all that and more; she'd do anything he wanted, if only he'd just tell
her that he loved her," Bob observed: "But I guess you know that now.  But
that don't make her a slut, really." "Your wife is just that kind of
woman," he explained.  "A woman like her would let a man she loved do
whatever he wanted to her, even though and maybe especially if she was
afraid he's lying to her, if she loved him and wanted him to love her. 
Why, for him, she'd do anything. . .  Why he could get her to suck his cock
. . .  hell, he could get her to suck all his friends' cocks. . . .  he
could get her to fuck them all at once.  They could make her cunt a fuck
bucket; they could use her mouth for a toilet and stuff her puckered
butthole with mop handles, nigger dicks and dog's peckers until she
squealed like pig for them.  And afterwards she could sob with regret and
shame, but still she would beg the one she loved who had been the one let
her be abused, who watched it all for his own pleasure, crawl to him naked
across the floor, to cuddle up to him, whimpering for the love he'd swear
he had for her, just to keep her sucking all those cocks, taking dog dicks
in her ass, and fucking every man in the room." He sized up Karen this way
from experience, he said.  He had afraulien, a young Nazi war widow, just
like her in Germany during the war.  He treated her badly.  She was content
to be fed cock and take cum for food.  She gave him several blowjobs a day.
Every night she fucked and sucked off the buddies he brought home.  "Now
she was not a slut really," he said.  "So I don't mean to compare her that
way.  I mean, what choice did she have?  Suck dick or starve.  That was it.
Your wife, now, I think she's slut 'cause she can't help herself. 
Something about her gonads.  Oversexed, I think." There was some truth to
what he said.  But none of this would have happened to her except for the
coincidence of things.  Mr.  Miller.  Bob.  All of it. Anyway, that's Bob's
story.  He came by sexual cruelty from his war experience.  Does not excuse
it but explains it.  If any one of these men was really depraved, it was
Bob.  Much of what happened was his idea. Mr.  Miller, for his part, also
treated Karen contemptuously.  He only pretended to love her.  Just like
Bob said, he told her he loved just to coax her to "strip" and kneel and
suck his cock and let him "cum in her mouth and eat it." When Karen
returned from the cafeteria she was in a heat, a state of stunned sexual
arousal in which she felt herself almost dreaming, everything at once vivid
and vague.  The ordinary things, like time of day, were gone from mind, she
thought about what Mr.  Miller wanted.  She thought of Bob waiting for her.
She remembered how different his penis felt in her, how much larger it was,
how it surprised her, how much she liked it when he fucked her.  She felt
again that sensation in the pit of her stomach and a warmth and wetness
flooding her vaginally, and she realized she wanted him sexually.  She was
surprised by her feelings, she had never felt this before, this craving to
be fucked by someone, and she thought about the feeling of his penis in
her, its size, how he came inside her; she felt this way about Bob even
though she did not love him, even though she was afraid of him and did not
like him.  It made no sense to her. When she saw the Jewelry shop down the
block, she felt queasy, and she remembered with nausea what was expected of
her.  What Mr.  Miller wanted: how she was meant to go to the back room and
undress herself and masturbate for Bob.  She wanted to please Mr.  Miller
but at the same time this made feel sick.  She wanted Bob to fuck her, she
felt it, even if she could not express it, but at the same time she found
him repulsive, remembering the taste of his sperm in her mouth, and she
dreaded this humiliation that she anticipated. "I can't do it, " she said
softly to herself, as she stood outside the door of the shop.  A passerby
looked at her, but she continued in her self-absorption: "I can't do this .
. .  I'm married and I'm Mormon and I . . ." But then she recalled all the
obscene things that she had already done, even though she is married and a
good Mormon girl.  She thought about the customer and of being naked in
front of him.She thought of Mr.  Miller's lollipop candy-topped sticky
penis drooling sperm lengthily amd languidly in her mouth and how she had
felt some strange thrill when first he had unexpectedly ejaculated into her
mouth.  The power she had over it, how his penis pleased her, how she loved
him.She thought about Bob, his bending over her as she lay with her legs up
and spread for him and his breath, his unshaven face, and how he laughed at
her as he leaned in and his thick cock forcibly poked into her open vagina.
Engorging her so completely, going into her so deeply.  Looking down at her
dress, she touched the place on her belly, just at the belt, where she had
felt how deeply it had seemed to have pushed up inside her.  Again, she
felt the sexual urgent pleasurable pang in her groin. She entered the shop.
Inside it she felt faint and giddy.  Mr.  Miller was waiting on a customer.
It was a good sale for an expensive item.  He said curtly: "In the back,
young lady.  Bob has been waiting for you." Bob was sitting at a stool.  He
stood up when she came in.  He said merely: "You look a little sick.  You
okay?" She nodded.  He nodded but did not believe her.  He said: "Go over
there."



   Installment #10: Wednesday (Continued)-- Bob and Al in Tandem Again and
Show the Pictures at the Bar

   Mr.  Miller had watched my wife masturbate with his arms folded, nodding
approvingly and coaching her quietly but insistently to her climax, while
she stood naked before them humiliated but aroused and compulsively
responding, spending tears emotionally at the moment of her wet orgasm. 
Bob had sat on his stool, staring with fascination and cynical
astonishment, impulsively polishing the lens of the Polaroid camera though
it did not need polishing, aching with his pent-up erection and grinning
like a lunatic.  Miller smiled and when she came on her fingers and said
she was a good girl and that he loved her.  Another shot flashed.  Miller
stepped over to her and kissed her and she leaned into his enfolding arms,
apologizing.  Miller soothed her nerves with reassurances.  Al shook his
head, again in disbelief, disbelief that she could be so gullible.  Bob
took a Polaroid of her gooey fingers, lifted up to show, at which she
herself stared in embarrassed astonishment. She wiped her fingers with the
Kleenex that Al had handed to her and Al gently told her to kneel in front
of him. She looked up into his face with an innocent expression, as she
knelt, but she understood what he wanted.  He unzipped his trousers. Bob
told Al he only had a few pictures left.  Al nodded.  He drew his penis,
half-stiff as it usually was, to feed to her open mouth.  She took it in
her hand, feeling it with her fingers, and lifted it to her mouth.  She
closed her eyes as she took it in.  She did what he had taught her to do.
Using her tongue.  Sucking lightly.  Al rocked on his heels, fucking her
mouth. Bob had heard Al tell how meekly, how responsively she performed
this oral sodomy on his uncircumcised penis.  Al had said he washed it
before hand, for her sake.  Still, the face-to-face witness of the thing
astonished him.  No married woman he had ever known did a thing like this.
Only sometimes some sluts might do a little bit, if they were desperate for
a fix.  Only that poor German widow whom he had forced to do it for him and
his friends during the war.  But Karen -"who had never done such a thing
for me and anyone else until Miller had persuaded her -"did it willingly,
did it warmly, did it affectionately, did not just put her mouth on it,
which most women would think is disgusting at the very thought, but she
obviously tasted it, relished it in her mouth; she expected him, she
actually wanted him to cum in her mouth.  And she would let him do it out
of love for him, she told me.  Bob seeing it, seeing her eagerness to
please him, said: "God Damn it, Al." "Yeah," said Al, stroking her hair,
like he might encourage a little girl who had done good deed, caressing her
hot cheek tenderly.  Bob saw how the flush of her shame (or of her sexual
arousal) had pinked her face; her eyes moistened.  Was she tearful?  Bob
said she was not; Bob said it was just "nerves." No, she did not breakdown;
maybe she felt humiliated, but it was not like his Fraulein who had sobbed
while they stuffed her mouth roughly with cock. Bob steadied the camera,
tilting it, looking down at her, trying to take a close-up of her face at
the moment when Al would feed her.  Al made a slight grimace, nodding.  He
came in her mouth.  "Open your eyes, honey," Bob told her and she did it
even as she was swallowing the stuff, some of it drooled out the side of
her mouth.  My wife still kneeling, wiped the drool of saliva and cum from
her lips and chin, and smeared it on her thigh. "We still got that
picture," Bob said.  "The bastards didn't get that one 'cause I took it
with me.' Al drew off his pants and his underpants, and Bob handed him the
camera. It was his turn, he explained, and he wanted a picture of sticking
it to my wife from behind, his cock in her cunt while he looks off camera
proudly and she hangs her head in shame.  That was a picture he would
cherish. "And I did it," he told me, "Took off my pants and told your wife
where to stand, to grab the stool and bend over and she looked back at me
to see me strip my underpants down and my cock pop up, ready and randy for
me, and Al got down crouching and his dick still half waggling hard too. 
She saw that too.  And I got up behind her grabbed ahold of her two
buttocks and did not even have to hold it to guide it in, she was that
ready, I just slipped it between those lips, and it slides in easy like a
greased pole...  six inches...  ten...  And then she got that serious look
on her face, like she's thinking of it, feeling it, she gasps, and Al takes
the picture just as I turn to mug for it and give the thumbs up -"OK.  " He
poured me more to drink: "I gotta tell you, your wife's got a creamy cunt
but it's a tight one, fits my cock like a golfer's glove, and I was shoving
my cock head up hard against the back of it, deep into her belly, bumping
into her hard, shoving her, and she'd grunt and whimper when I hit that
spot." He laughed to remember.  He liked telling me these details.  He
leaned in with a confidential secret, almost whispering: "And she's got a
kind of wrinkly edge inside her, or maybe it's the way her cunt lips cling
about your cock, or I don't know what it is, but it rubs nice, like a kind
of ribbing against your cock, makes youwannafuck her and fuck her and fuck
her some more and keep on fucking her.  You suppose she's made that way? 
So she likes getting fucked?  So men like to fuck her?  All I know is I
never known a woman who loves to fuck more than your wife.  And I never
seen so many men fuck a woman so much and she won't never quit, can't quit,
doesn't want to quit; it's like every cock that gets into her starts her
all over again.  She's a special thing, man." He paused, remembering.  He
looked at me with a knowing smile.  I had to ask: "You got that picture?"
He nodded and got up from the table.  "It's locked up..." He went to the
bar and opened the cash register.  He returned to the table: "It's Al's
favorite.  He won't let me sell it." He tossed it on the table before me.
It slid across the tabletop and ended upside-down.  I turned it straight.
Al's cock.  Cumming in her mouth.  Jesus. "Little out of focus though," he
said objectively.

   "Look at that face," he said."Look at those eyes." He laughed. My wife
did almost look innocent of what she was doing.  But as Bob assured me
-"and as I could plainly see in the Polaroid -"Al had filled her mouth with
sperm, and she had swallowed it all just as she always did.  But before she
had finished, Al had stepped back, drawn his penis from her mouth, and it
shot jism across her cheek and into her still open mouth.  She drooled
some. He sighed: "Anyway I fucked your wife really good for a while, you
know, to get her good and worked up, and then when I stopped she looked up
over her shoulder, like "why did you stop?  You didn't finish...." -- all
out of breath and wanting more.  So I told her to get up and come with me
and took her hand and led her out to the front of the store and she saw
herself naked in the dim reflection on the glass of the door, against the
street at night, Al and Bob behind her grinning, admiring her too. Al threw
on all the lights to the front and she saw herself starkly displayed; she
turned away; she looked upset but I grabbed shoulders so she couldn't get
away and I said to her: "I bet you'd like to strip for a bunch of men.  Bet
you'd love to have a dozen fuck you." She looked horrified.  She reached
for Al who backed away.  Bob took her wrist and twisted her arm behind her
back and forced her to face the glass door again, her naked reflection now
vivid in the light, and holding her like that with his other hand he guided
and shoved his prick up into her from behind and fucked her; letting go, he
grabbed her tits with his fists, fiddling with her nipples with his
fingers, nuzzling her neck, and jostling her with his urgent fucking.
Whether anyone walked by to see my wife like this -"fucked naked in the
front of Al's store -"I do not know.  Bob said some cars passing may have
seen her, and he claimed there were others out on the street too, but he
couldn't remember for sure.  "I was sort of busy," he winked.  Everything
he said to me was meant to provoke my miserable jealousy and add to the
sexual tension.  I swear I had a hard-on for the two hours that he told me
the whole tale. Karen finally fought away from him before he could complete
himself and ran back into the backroom.  Bob caught her in the corner where
he had taken her photos stripping for him, cowering, crouching nude; he
took hold of her chin and roughly drew her to her knees, and then held her
face and leaning over French-kissed her and pawed her breasts; still
holding her chin he straddled her thighs and pushed his cock roughly into
her mouth and fucked her mouth.  He fucked her mouth though she complained
and coughed, gagging on the thing going into her throat; he fucked her
mouth and came in her mouth just like Al had and she swallowed his cum too,
although retching at it and making faces.  "I guess I choked her with my
cock," he laughed.  He said with smug satisfaction: "She was all worn out
after that.  Just limp.  Lying curled up on the floor.  So Al and I got
dressed.  She sat up in bit and watched us.  Al finished up putting things
away.  Not speaking.  I picked up the Polaroids.  I picked up all her
clothes where Al had laid them on the worktable. Al stood closer to her,
told her to get up.  He embraced her.  He held her.  She laid her head on
his shoulder and told her he loved her and all that shit.  Then he told her
she should go home and said: "Tomorrow, come dressed like normal underneath
-"you know pantyhose, slip, everything." She looked at him sadly.  He
handed her a glass of brandy and water.  "We gotta go.  Bob needs to get to
his bar." Bob said she saw that he had picked up her clothes.  She must
wondered what he was doing but said nothing when he took them away with him
out the door. Al locked the door of the shop behind them.  The lights were
still on.  Bob dropped Karen's clothes in in pile in the gutter along the
sidewalk in front of the door.  Right under a streetlight. Bob said he
wanted to see her come out and get them and they waited at the end of the
block to see, but when several minutes passed, Al insisted that they leave,
and they did not see her do it.  But she must have.  She certainly came
home dressed that night.  Late, I remember, and she looked unhappy, but she
said nothing about the whole thing of course. Bob's bar had been on this
corner and in this neighborhood when this had been a near suburban part of
the city.  Working men had come to it since before prohibition, during
prohibition and after it.  It was still frequented by men who belonged to
the World War II generation, soldiers almost all, like my dad, who used to
bring me here when I was kid and let me sit and listen as they all drank
beers and talked politics. I never heard any talk about sex.  I don't think
I ever hear a dirty word.  Maybe it was because I was there with my dad. 
But his friends watched over me too.  Henry and Hank in particular were
always there for me; they were pallbearers at my dad's funeral, and both
had sat with my side of the family when Karen and I got married.  Henry had
done the toast, saying how pretty my wife was and what a lucky guy I was
and all that. And there were others.  Men who had seen me grow up.  Men who
had bought me my first drinks when I turned 21.  Men who had bought drinks
for my wife just a short time ago when she turned 21.  There was Harry who
was always with Henry or Hank or both.  Never came to the bar alone.  And
there were the two Arthurs -"one tall, one short, both taciturn and moody,
who listened to everything and said little, but were good for a round or
two.  These five were at the bar nearly every day. There were more men that
shifted in and out, men whom I did not know well but who knew about me and
whom I had probably met once or twice and could not remember their names.
All of them my father's age.  All of them prematurely retired because of
plant closings or living on VA benefits.  Sour and cynical guys, for the
most part.  I did not like going to bar after my dad bar, in part because
of how gloomy these men were. Then there was Bob -"the owner of the bar. 
Actually Bob was a newcomer.  He had bought the bar just before I got
married.  He had a reputation for being an alcoholic.  He may have been. 
But he managed the bar tightly and made a living on it.  It was also
rumored that he did some illicit business in the backroom -"which I have
described.  The stories about strippers were told by my college roommates,
one of them being a young guy, who tended bar there, and was in fact there
that night, while Bob was off fucking my wife. Miller had been an old
friend of Bob's.  He never used to come to the bar until Bob owned it. 
Some said he had put up the money for Bob to buy it.  Certainly he never
had to pay for his drinks or sandwiches.  Bob always put it on his "tab."
Because of this unexplained "relationship" and perhaps because Miller,
being a little younger, had not served in WWII, the crowd at the table
-"Henry, Hank, et al -"did not trust him much.  And for over a month Bob
had been intimating that something was going on with my wife.  They did not
like to hear it.  But they had kept their mouths shut.  They could not
think how to tell me anyway, I suppose.  And besides it was just too hard
to believe.  Still, said Hank shrugging, where there's smoke there's fire.
And Henry himself had always thought my wife had been too flirty with some
of my young friends, her dresses sometimes too short; and one time a couple
months ago he had seen the bartender here kissing her and pawing at her in
the dark next to the restroom. Now in the last week Bob had come in later
than usual and went straight up to their table with a free pitcher of beer
and announced that now he too had seen my wife with all her clothes off,
not a stich (he swore), naked in Miller's workroom, and that he'd felt her
up and she'd let him fuck her from behind.  Much as they loathed him, they
tended to believe him; and when Al came over to the table that night, Bob
wheedled Al with several brandy and waters to reluctantly admit that -"yes,
he and the pretty little wife had been playing around with each other
-"wink, wink -"and he made a gesture to indicate she had taken his penis
into her mouth and Bob blurted out that she'd let him cum in her mouth. 
They were speechless, jealous, shocked, and intrigued.  Henry did not
believe it and said so.  He said that Karen was a nice girl. Miller said
yes, she was.  She couldn't help herself.  Bob said he'd bring proof. So
whatever else the intentions were for those obscene Polaroids -"some of
which would end up like French Postcards taped to the register behind the
bar and shown to causal patrons for a laugh and a story -"Bob had it in
mind at least to show up Henry with his "proof" and by this Bob would then
set up that chain of events that would lead to her "show" on Saturday
afternoon.  Al knew what Bob was scheming of course, said Bob; hell, he
liked the idea.  But Bob confessed -"haughtily -"that it was mostly his
doing. Angry, I might have left then or hit him.  It seemed he wanted to
provoke me.  He had told me all of this carefully, deliberately -"detail on
detail to lead me on.  I had never guessed that of all the men at the bar,
Henry and Hank might have been involved.  I should have thought they would
have stopped it. I felt my own nauseous shame, that they must have seen my
wife too.  I had to ask: "Were they here?" Meaning that Saturday at the
show. Bob smiled wickedly but did not reply and continued his story.  I
probably would have missed him if I had tried to hit him anyway.  Or I
might have never found out the truth.  I wanted to know.  I listened. "They
were here when Al and I got to the bar.  You know where they sit.  They're
probably out there now," he said, looking at his watch. I knew the spot,
actually just outside the door to the backroom here, a large corner booth
where all five could cozy into the upholstered curve and the table would
collect beers they had drunk, pitchers of caked suds, glasses of booze and
ice, napkins, empty bags of potato chips. Al pulled up a chair from one of
the rounds to sit facing them in the booth.  They acknowledged him
silently. Then Bob brought over a fresh pitcher of beer, beaming but he
said nothing either.  Not like him.  He usually ran his mouth.  Henry, who
always sat in the middle of the booth, looked up, put his hands on the
table.  He poured the beers from the pitcher that Bob set down.  Bob pulled
up a chair too, sat, looked like the cat who ate the canary. Nobody said
anything. Then Bob took the polaroids out of his pocket and holding them
like cards in a hand of rummy, he sorted them, keeping them close so no one
else could see.  He looked over the cards and put them down in a stack,
face down, and said: "You wanted proof?" He turned the first one over and
put it in the center of the booth table, directly before Henry.  Karen.  In
her blue sheath dress.  The one she always wore to work.  Standing in the
corner of a room.  A work stool beside her, behind her at bit.  She looked
at the camera curiously.  Not smiling.  Worried maybe. Henry stared down
without a word.  Hank and Harry leaned in from one side.  The two Arthurs
on the other side did not move but turned their heads toward the Polaroid.
Bob, still not speaking, turned over the next one and put it top of the
first. A series.  Like shots of slow motion.  Frames at the same angle and
same distance.  The same scene.  My wife Karen in the center of the
picture, head to toe, standing now in front of that stool in the corner of
the room.  The only thing really different in this shot from the first: she
was taking off her clothes for the camera. Bob smugly laid out the series
of my wife stripping in the workshop, one card at a time in a row before
Henry, like he was laying out a winning poker hand.

   # 1: Stepping out of her dress in her stocking feet. # 2:Facing the
camera in her bra and panties and socks.  Vaguely smiling. # 3.  Taking off
her bra, pinching it from behind, it was slipping in front, but still
nothing to see.  She was not smiling. # 4.  Bare breasted.  Leaning over
and awkwardly removing her socks, her tits dangling, she looks up at the
camera.  Ashamed. # 5: Turned away from camera.  She was completely naked
now, head to toe.  They admired her buttock.

   Finally, Bob laid out thecoup de grace: #6:What they had been waiting
for--this polaroid--facing them naked--a head to toe again -- showing
everything,pussy, tits, face bare legs, bare feet.

   "What did I tell you?" And then dropped the close-up for good measure.

   The men at the table leaned in to study it.  Bob would not let them
touch it at first.  Finally, he let Hank pick it up and the men gathered in
to ogle it and comment. Henry, sitting back, peered over their shoulders at
the picture of my naked wife.  He seemed unmoved.  He asked flatly,
scanning them: "Does she know you're showing them to us?" Bob shrugged:
"What you think?" Now Bob laid down the top of this straight flush: Karen
looking up coyly at the camera's flash.  A close-up.  Full face.  A bit
blurry.  Miller's short plump dick in her mouth.  Red-capped dick-head
showing.  Cum in her mouth.  Henry's eyes widened. Finally, Bob played his
ace of spades: Karen leaning over the stool.  Completely naked, while Bob,
bare-legged himself, his pants off but still wearing the same shirt he was
wearing right then as he sat before them grinning like a piss-smelling cat,
fucked my naked wife from behind.  His large slick dick poised between her
legs, half or more than half inside her ruddy cunt, and he mugs at the
camera, giving a thumbs-up.  She, bent over, clutched the stool top with
both hands tightly: her eyes shut; her mouth slightly open.  You could see
his dick slipping up into her.  You could see her hole taking it in.  You
could see how her swollen tits hung and swung.  Henry picked this photo up.
Now all the photos were scooped up by Hank and passed about the table
between themselves, down to the Arthurs too -"where one held them up and
the other looked on. Bob motioned for the bar tender to bring another
pitcher of beer.  Because Henry recognized him as one of my friends, he
insisted that all the pictures be gathered up and he was going to hold them
so that he would not see, but then in kind of perverse notion, when the
young college kid -"my friend -"brought over the pitcher of beer, he tossed
the pack onto the table and they spilled out and spread to show him some
girl undressing, some girl naked.  He was curious, he saw what they were,
but he did not stay to look.  They watched his reaction.  He did not
recognize her, Bob thought.  Bob laughed at Henry's notion. After he had
gone, Henry let the pictures pass again.  They went from hand to hand.  Bob
poured more beer.  "I want to see her," said Henry seriously. "I want to
fuck her," added Hank eagerly.  They laughed.  They all had the same
thought. Henry looked at Bob.  He knew his mind.  "What you are thinking?"
he had guessed there was a plan. Bob shrugged: "How 'bout Saturday?  She
could do a show.  In the backroom." Miller then broke in and expressed his
misgivings.  He said she wasn't ready for that.  He said she didn't
understand about the pictures.  He had them taken for insurance, but he
said: "She won't do what you want." They were disappointed.
"I want to see her for myself," Henry said again.  He was stone-faced,

said Bob, "I could not tell what he was thinking." "How much do I have to
pay her?" Henry asked Bob. Miller shook his head.  Bob laughed.  Bob
explained she does it because she loves him, tilting his head toward
Miller. Henry was surprised. "Would she do it if you told her to do it?"
Henry asked Miller. "Maybe," said Miller. "Suppose we come to your shop
tomorrow..." Henry did not have to finish. Miller took up the thought: "Not
all of you.  Not all at once." "Okay," agreed Henry.  The bargaining began.
Miller said they should come in small groups.  They decided who would go
with whom and when. "But you only get to look.  No touching.  And no
fucking," Miller insisted. "How 'bout she sucks cock?" Hank asked, only
half-kidding. Miller shook his head.  No sex, he stipulated.  No touching.
She just takes off her clothes.  Let's them see her naked.  That's it.
"Agreed?" Miller asked. No one would refuse the offer. Henry said: "She
won't do it." "She'll do it," said Miller, "But she'll be nervous; she'll
be worried, seeing who you are.  She'll be worried her husband will find
out.  You can't tell anybody about this." "She won't do it," said Henry
again. "She'll do it if I tell her to," Miller replied. Miller felt
triumph. Bob gloated.  Henry, Hank, and Harry felt horny.  But Henry also
looked sort of unhappy, Bob said. I never spoke to Henry about this, about
his seeing my wife naked or the things he did to her.  I saw him a couple
times afterwards, but we never spoke again.  When I came out of the
backroom after Bob had told it all to me and showed me the photo album from
Saturday, I saw him and Hank and Harry in the booth.  He looked up at me.
He knew that I knew.  Hank could not look at me.  But Henry gave me a look
of pity and contempt.  He nodded, but he did not speak.



   Installment #11: Thursday -- My Uncle Henry Makes My Wife Take Off Her
Clothes for Him

   I do not personally recall this Thursday very well myself -"just bits
and pieces -"and Bob was not a live witness to the events of either
Thursday or Friday.  What I know about it then comes largely from Karen's
point of view, her own shameful tearful confessions, confirming and
elaborating upon what Bob related by hearsay, what others--Henry
specifically-- had told him had happened.  I got more details much
later---in a letter from Henry himself.

   Henry was like an uncle to me.  He had been my father -(TM)s best friend
and I had known him all my life.  After my father died, he was like a
father to me.  I had even asked him about marrying Karen.  He had been
inclined against it, but couldn -(TM)t tell me why.  Or didn -(TM)t.  I
guessed it was because she was so young.  But he said he had other reasons
but would not dissuade me.  What he finally confided in the letter
explained it.

   By Karen -(TM)s account and what Bob told me, this particular day would
prove to be her crisis -"the critical turning point for my wife's biddable
submission to all this indecency and her sexual surrender: after this day,
she would do anything Al asked of her.

   Miller had developed her submission so cleverly; relying on her natural
inclination toward men to submit to their wishes so to make them happy
-"and so to make herself loved -"he would deliberately bait her emotionally
and sexually and coax her emotionally and sexually, to bring her by small
embarrassing submissions to gross humiliating surrender -"and so she would
be swept up sexually, drunk on the feelings she discovered in herself,
teased by repeated naked exhibition to so many men and excited by the
license Al freely gave these voyeurs to do anything sexually to her that
they wished, so that in the end she was so numb to her shame yet so
sexually aroused, so yearning and responsive to the teasing sexual
titillations and her overwhelming orgasms -"orgasms such as she had never
felt before, never with me -"that she would not refuse anything that they
would ask her to do.  Miller counted on this development; he knew she would
give in to them; he foresaw how, after playing out some silly pretense of
shy reluctance, she would stand up there Saturday in front of all those
lecherous old men at the bar looking on and do the "show" they wanted, and
then she would submit herself to any sexual degradation they might urge on
her without thinking of the humiliation she might feel afterwards when she
was sober.

   Up to this point she had really just been Miller's adulterous lover; but
there was a gradual seduction to the sexual experiments he put to her,
gradually more and more illicit sexual acts, then lewd nakedness and sex
games, sodomy and worse.  She had performed fellatio on him after work
every night for weeks now.  Sometimes twice in the night before she came
home.  She had allowed him to undress her at will.  In the backroom.  In
the front room.  In daylight as well as under the lights of the workroom.
She let him provoke her sexually, embarrassing her by half undressing her
for other men.  Then at last by her lover's contrivance she had been given
completely naked to Bob.  The day after that one , Miller upped the ante
and coaxed her with sugary terms to take off her clothes and then be
completely naked for a customer who had come shopping for a gift for his
wife; she did not tell Al but she admitted to me that she would have given
herself sexually to the man, if Al had asked it, just as she had let Bob do
what he wanted.

   To her mind what had happened with Bob had been her own fault really,
not Al's dishonest pretext, because Bob had just shown up accidently in the
first place -"Al said he had not known he was coming to the store -"and
after all she had willingly followed Miller out to the front of the store,
had willingly stripped naked in the light, put her fingers onto herself to
masturbate -"something she never did, but would do for him because she
loved him -"and when she was seen by Bob, she ran to hide but rather than
dressing, she crouched in back naked, fully expecting them to come find
her, and then, rather than refusing his instruction, she willingly parted
her legs for them, to show herself randy for them.  She herself thought of
the rude word "cunt", when he commanded her to open her legs for them.

   She had expected him to touch her.  She had not expected him to fuck
her, naive as she was.  For not even Al had done that until that night. 
But once it had happened, it electrified her.  She had never had another
man inside her but me.  Now in one night two men -"neither of them her
husband -"had fucked her -"fucked her twice each.  And she had enjoyed it.
She could not tell me this, but I could see it in her face.  I think, she
had never felt more a sexually keen, more completely desirably a woman. 
She would not say no to them.

   So, when the very next day Miller had connived to have her take off her
clothes for that customer, she had not done so innocently.  She had wanted
him to see her without her clothes, she confessed to me, though she still
did not understand these feelings and she felt ashamed of herself.

   Stripping for the Polaroid camera for Bob had been a second act in the
same play.  She had felt sexually aroused, doing it, she admitted.  But
when I asked her why she did it, once again she said it was to make Al
happy because he had wanted her to do it.  She still hid her own feelings
from herself.

   Her fellatio of Al in front of that camera had been, it seemed to her,
an act of her affection for Al.  If Al wanted a picture of her taking him
in her mouth, she would give that to him, as an act of love.  Funny, after
all she went through, she never condemned Al for any of it, and after all
she stayed working for him even after I left her.  Although, come to think
of it: what choice did she really have?  She was obliged to him in more
ways than one, not least because she needed the money.  And too she was
deeply hurt by my leaving her.  I suppose she found some solace in his
"loving" attentions, although she would be more and more abused by his
sexual appetites.

   She had fallen into a dreamy happy enchantment sexually.  She loved Al.
He loved her.  He gave her gifts of jewelry.  It had nothing to do with me.
She loved me.  She wanted to be married to me.  She did not think of where
this was going or how it would end.  She felt more a woman than ever she
had felt.  And the sexual feelings that she discovered, her own now very
wet climaxes, and the pleasure of fellatio with Al which she more and more
enjoyed, even anticipating the volume and the taste of his cum, these made
her feel beautiful and loved.  She could not stop thinking of them.

   Because of that when she came home that previous night, she was not
regretful and she did not feel guilty, but she kissed me warmly with that
mouth that had readily swallowed the ejaculations of two men earlier
(although of course I did not know it); and to my surprise she seduced me
in the living room, wanting to make love with all the lights on, and riding
my cock on top of me, looking more randy than I had ever seen her, she
trembled and mewled when I ejaculated.  She fell asleep almost immediately
on my chest where we lay, with my cock still full up inside her.  I helped
her to bed where she slept curled and naked; utterly exhausted, it seemed.

   In the morning I watched from the bed as she got dressed, like I usually
did.  She seemed happy.  Still wearing that blue sheath dress; it was still
clean.  And she wore fresh underwear, a clean bra, pantyhose and a nylon
slip.  I had not seen her dress in the bedroom before me for the whole
week. All other days -"including the following Friday morning -"she had
dressed in the bathroom, where she had hung her blue sheath dress after she
had rinsed it the night before.  I did not think it odd, but of course now
I know she had not wanted me to see that she had been going to work naked
underneath her dress.

   She went to the bathroom to put on make-up.  She came out as I sat at
the kitchen table with my coffee and kissed me with her lipsticked mouth; I
could taste the lipstick for a while after she left.  She had looked so
pretty.  And I think I remember this only because of how passionately she
had made love the night before after having been so remote and sullen for a
week or so before.  I did not guess why she had been so remote or sullen,
or why she had suddenly changed.  But that night when she came home she
went straight to bed as she had so often before and seemed once again
remote and sullen, thinking about something she did not want to talk about.
I dismissed it as mood.

   When she got to work that Thursday morning, I wonder if Al had expected
her to be so happy.  He was probably glad that she was, given his plans for
her, and perhaps because she was so cheerful he would push the thing
further than he had first planned.  He called Bob in fact to say that he
thought she would be ready for a show on Saturday after all and he should
go ahead and make all the plans; he added that he had a good idea for the
show and would take care of those arrangements himself.  They agreed on who
would attend.

   She worked out in the shop alone all morning.  Al worked in the back. 
He was trying to get ready for inventory.  He told her that she would
probably have to work on Saturday.  "I'll make it worth your while," he
winked.  And she understood he meant it in more ways than one and felt
flattered and wanted.  She felt very happy all morning, thinking of this.
Because Al had let her get dressed normally she did not anticipate that Bob
would come that night.  Al told her that he would not.

   She waited on customers.  She had some good sales.  They drank tea
together at the counter, ate cookies, and chatted.  He kissed her
romantically.  He caressed her neck tenderly.  He told her she was
beautiful.  He told her that he loved her.  She kissed him when he said it
and said she loved him too, and she meant it.

   At lunchtime he announced they would stay in and he locked the door and
hung up the "CLOSED" sign.  He had brought sandwiches and they ate
together, knee to knee, sharing sandwiches with each other, sipping tea and
making small talk.  Karen told me he seemed especially interested in me and
asked her a lot of questions, including about our sex life.  That is when
he learned, as she confided blushing to his insistence, that no, she had
never sucked my cock, she had never tasted cum until he had cum in her
mouth, and yes, she liked it.

   She said he dallied after lunch, did not open the store, spoke to her
again about all the work needed to be done for the inventory, and made both
of them brandy and waters.  Then about a quarter to one, someone knocked at
the door.  She made to get up to answer, but he stayed her with a gesture,
saying he will tell them they're closed.  She sipped her drink.  She heard
him open the door, talk, then close the door.  She heard murmuring voices.
Al came in smiling, he motioned to the visitor.  There were two, two men.
She recognized them immediately.  They had been to her wedding.  She did
not know their names.  She knew that they had been friends of my father,
she remembered my telling her that.  She did not remember them from the
bar, though she had seen them there occasionally, but they were so
nondescript and spoke little; they had watched her but had said nothing to
her ever.

   Now in the threshold of the workroom, though Miller invited them
enthusiastically to step in, they seemed just as shy or unsure of
themselves as she had always seen them to be, again speaking little and
only entering the room with Al's insistence, pointing to where he wanted
them to stand.  They ventured only a few feet away from the doorframe. 
They looked at Karen with glances.  She said she found it all very
confusing.  She could not guess what Al wanted them to come into the
backroom for; she presumed they were his friends and meant to do some favor
for them, show them something special.  She got up from the stool, smoothed
her skirt, smiled.  Al gestured for Karen to stand in the center of the
room.  She saw, but she did not understand; she hesitated.  Al seemed
exasperated and stepped over to draw her by the hand and pivoted her by the
shoulders to face them.  He went back to the men as she stood in her
confusion.  She heard him say, something to them and one of them
responding, and Miller laughing, shaking his head.  "No, not now," he said
audibly as he turned, smiling at Karen and then nodding said: "Yes, I think
so too," to something that one of the Arthurs had said.

   Seeing Karen's discomfort and quizzical look, he explained: "They think
you're pretty."

   "So do I," he approached her as though he would kiss her.  It made her
anxious, she shook her head at him.  "Don't," she warned him.  She did not
want them to discover their secret relationship.

   Miller stopped in front of her, smiling indulgently at her warning. 
"It's okay," he said carelessly, "They don't care."

   Miller stepped behind her, continuing to talk, "....  besides they won't
tell anyone."

   She felt him doing it.  It surprised her.  It confused her.  But she
said nothing.  He slowly unzipped the dress in back, down completely to the
base of her spine, all the while talking over her shoulder to the two
Arthurs, asking them if they wanted anything to drink.

   For his part Al seemed nonchalant and at ease.  But Karen was flooded
with sudden feelings: bewilderment and surprise and then a wash of hot
embarrassment; a twinge of sexual giddiness in her belly; a thought for her
husband's shame should he find out these men had seen her undressed for
them; but also disbelief, sheer oblivious stunned disbelief at the same
time.  The whole thing was like a dream, she said.

   Al kept talking, and she could not remember anything that he said -"she
was so confused with her feelings; what she heard him say was like ordinary
everyday conversation about the weather or sports or past friends, and all
the while he was proceeding, slipping his cool fingers up her back and
along both shoulder and edging them underneath her dress, to part it, to
draw it away and off her bare shoulders so that it would fall limply and
liquidly to the floor and spill at her feet.  The two Arthurs watched with
rapt attention and she looked at them for response, but they did not look
at her face, they looked at her body, dressed now in her slip, her blue
dress pooled about her feet.

   Miller, still talking, slipped his fingers under the straps of her slip
and drew them sideways off her shoulders, and hooking them, drew her slip
off her brassiere and to her waist; then tugging in short even stokes he
pulled it off her hips and let it glide also to the floor, to fall over top
of her dress.

   The two Arthurs stared at her white underpants showing through her
pantyhose, her legs, her bra.  Their complexion darkened, livid.  The short
Arthur looked blotchy with red and grinned; the tall one inexpressive but
his eyes glittered.

   "You want to see her tits?  Or her pussy," Al's hands on her shoulders,
smiled at her flushing face, looking down the front of her.  Karen said the
expression shocked her.  No one had talked about her body so.  Al had never
used such words.  He had always been so gentle.  Now, she was to be
stripped against her will for men who did not care about her feelings.  It
felt worse even than the abuse she took from Bob.

   The Arthurs said nothing.  Al repeated it: "Tits or pussy?" He paused,
then sighed and explained: "You'll see both, but which one first?"

   The short one almost spoke but Al preempted him impatiently.  He reached
from behind Karen under her bra cups and taking hold of both in both hands
pulled up her bra and out popped her breasts, looking the more obscene for
the way her bra, folded above them, crammed them down and shoved them out.
The Arthurs eyes drilled on her wine-colored nipples.

   Then Al took hold of the waistband of her pantyhose firmly with both
hands at her hips, slipping his fingers into the elastic, spreading the
transparent fabric with his spread fingers to stretch it, to draw it off
her bottom, and hooking the waistline of her underpants as he drew down her
pantyhose, he drew both down together, turning them both inside out, then
tugged them in two quick jerks to bunch up mid-thigh, dangling from the
crotch of them, entangled, and exposed her bare belly, the top of her
thighs and her hairy "pussy" to the two Arthurs.

   Stepping back, he left her like that, awkwardly undressed.  Clothes
removed just enough to show her tits and pussy as he said.  Not undressed
for sex.  Just enough so they could tell the men at the bar that they had
seen her naked.  She felt more humiliation and embarrassment at this
treatment than the other times.

   It felt like when she was a little girl.  A time she recalled.  She had
been with her cousins.  She was eight.  They were twelve and fourteen. 
They had taken her to the basement of an old house and pointed flashlights
at her and told her to take off her clothes.  She had not said anything in
reply, but she had not done anything either.  Exasperated, the older boy
came over to her and lifted up her t-shirt, pulled it up inside-out over
the top her head, like a bag, exposing her bare chest with chubby
pink-tipped titties and then as they laughed she felt him yank down her
shorts to her feet and then flip her underpants inside out, to hang upside
down about the tops of her thighs.  She had stood like that with her head
bagged in her t-shirt, seeing nothing but the bobbing of the flashlight
through the cloth of the shirt over her face, though mostly they aimed the
spotlights at her naked belly and the little plump mound there with the
slit that ran down in between her legs where she peed.  She heard them
giggle.  She felt them touch her there.  That is all she remembers.

   But this is what she suddenly remembered at this moment and told me
later; she said she felt like crying.  She may have looked like it.  But
the two Arthurs were not looking at her face.

   Karen said she said nothing.  She stood patiently displayed for them. 
Like she had for her cousins.  Al asked if they wanted to touch her.  He
did not look at her when he said it, though he knew she had looked at him,
beseeching him.  He ignored her feelings, or rather, he knew the secrets
she had.i Because when the short grinning Arthur approached and reached out
for her breasts and touched her nipples with his fingertips, she felt a
sexual thrill in her groin like she had the day before, that same sharp
feeling, a quick orgasm probably.  She was too innocent yet to comprehend
her own sexual feelings, it was true.

   She wanted him to touch her between her legs.  And his fingers did feel
about the outside of vulva, along the outline of its plump shape, feeling
the silk of her tousled pussy hair, his forefinger found and slipped up and
down the slit of her vulva, but did not press between those lips, did not
feel the warm wetness that she longed for him to feel.  He stepped back,
close to her, looking down at her nakedness, but did no more.

   She felt intensely, foolishly embarrassed.  She felt herself trembling
suddenly from a chill; she folded her arms about her, embracing herself,
and shivered, and shivered so much that she crouched and then squatted,
clutching herself tightly.

   "You cold, honey?" Asked Al.

   Karen shook her head, still shivering, but in a moment felt the chill
passing and looking up, saying meekly that she was sorry, she stood up for
them again, so they could see her naked again, but she kept arms folded
under her breasts, feeling the chill again; her breasts pinched together,
heaved up, pointed her lurid nipples at the men's lewd fixed stares.

   Al looked at his watch and said: "I really got to open the store guys.
If you're done here, then..."

   The two looked at each other, then back at my half-naked wife longingly.
The tall one said to Al: "See you tonight." He turned and walked out of the
room like he was getting off an elevator.  The short one lingered and
turned back to give Karen one last look-over.  Al went out with them to
open the door.

   Karen pulled her bra cups back over her breasts and was fussing to fix
the tangle of her underpants and pantyhose when Al came back.  He watched
her, arms folded, leaning against the doorjamb.  Disentangled from her
pantyhose, she drew up her underpants; but she found her pantyhose so
twisted that she decided to take them off and pushed them down her legs and
stepped out of the heap of her slip and dress.  She did not put her slip on
but picked up her dress and stepped into it.  Al came up behind her and
zipped it up.  He lingered behind her caressing her neck, feeling the damp
hair on her neck.  He kissed the nape of her neck.  He said simply: "You
enjoy that?"

   He said nothing more about it.  She did not know what to say.  At one
level it had been a psychological jolt.  At another it had happened so
fast, it had been so bizarre, and the men had behaved so politely that it
was like nothing had happened.  Perhaps no one would ever know.  They would
just forget it.  The way no one ever knew about her cousins.  She never
told anyone.  They always acted like nothing had happened.  When she sees
either of her cousins now that all of them are adults, it is like it never
happened.

   Al picked up her slip from the floor and opened a drawer in the filing
cabinet and dropped it inside behind some files: "Someday you will have to
wait on customers wearing that." He picked up her pantyhose and asked her
what to do with them.

   She heard a customer in the store call out and Al nodded toward the
voice: "You going to take that?" He tossed her pantyhose into the trash can
as she went out to greet the customer.

   They did not speak of it for the rest of the day.  The store got busy
enough that Al had to come out to help too.

   Meanwhile the two Arthurs had returned to the bar and Bob brought over a
complimentary pitcher of beer as they joined Henry, Hank and Harry at the
usual booth.  Henry waited for them to settle.  He could see that the short
one was giddy and eager to talk, unusual for him.  The tall one
uncharacteristically smiled.

   "Well?" said Henry somberly, arching his eyebrows: "Did she do it?"

   Bob said Henry still felt the whole thing was wrong.  He had seen the
pictures, but he could not believe what he had seen, somehow.  He wanted to
believe that Al had tricked them or tricked her.  Somehow.  But when he
heard that the two Arthurs had gone in and Al had locked the place up and
she had let Al strip her for them, well, then...

   "Okay," he said, "She is what she is."

   They paced their drinking after that.  They wanted nothing to deaden
their senses or soften their intentions.  Hank watched the clock.  Henry
played solitaire with a deck of cards that had nudie pin-ups on them. 
Harry watched his play, leaning over him and helping his moves from time to
time.

   When it got near time to leave, they all went in to use the restroom
together.  Washed their hands.  Combed hair.  Tidied up.

   Hank asked Henry, looking at his face in the mirror, "SOOO . . ." he
drawled, "What you think?"

   Henry considered, looking back at him.  "Well. . ." he drawled in
return, "I think she's gonna suck cock...  I don't give a shit what Miller
says.  She's a slut, and she can suck our cocks." He turned off the faucet.

   Henry shook the water off his hands.  He went to the wall to take some
paper towel out of the dispenser.  Hank and Harry waited at the door. 
Henry dropped the used towel in the trash.  "And then we're gonna fuck
her," he added.

   Hank nodded appreciatively, "Right."

   Henry had concluded that my wife had gone wrong, Bob said, and she ought
to be taught a lesson.  "That," Bob winked, "And I suppose he'd always had
same thoughts about her that the rest of us had."

   After the Arthurs came back and confirmed it all, Henry told the group
he was not really surprised it was true, just disappointed.  "You know,
she's a church-going girl too," he told them, shaking his head.

   After they closed, Al kissed Karen in the front room in the dark,
telling her again how he loved her.  The earlier event was out of mind, at
least for him.  They took the displays out of the windows, he is slipping
his hand up her leg as she leaned in for them.  She smiled and told him
playfully not to do that, but she did not mean it.  As they were putting
the jewelry into the safe, Al took a set of silver earrings off a tray and
gave them to her, telling her to put them on.  When she had, he told her
she was beautiful and held her.

   They settled into the normal routine.  They sat at the workbench side by
side on the pair of stools.  Al brought out his brandy.  They drank from
teacups as they always did and Al updated his records, while Karen polished
some rings.  She had kicked off her shoes and was barefoot.  She felt
happy. She anticipated making love to Al.

   Al sat beside her now and slipped his hand up under her skirt, caressing
her thigh, rubbing his fingers on the crotch of her underpants and a
wetness that had seeped between her legs and had made the cloth slippery
with that ooze.  About 6:30 or so there was another knock at the front
door. It was repeated insistently.  It rattled the door.  Al sighed and
withdrew his hand from Karen's skirt.

   For her part, hearing the knock had given her an anxious start, she had
looked at Al searchingly, but he seemed so composed that she felt
reassured. She almost said something about her feelings, but he patted her
knee and said he'd go see what it was.

   Karen told me afterwards that she had not suspected what Al was doing
-"until she heard the voices of men.  She heard by the noises that Al had
let them in and locked the door.  She had stood up and she had gone to the
center of the workroom.  She must have known what was expected, although
she swore to me that did not: but why else did she stand up and go stand
where she did?

   Henry came in first.  Hank following.  Then Harry.  She was shocked, she
said, to see who it was -"and this I do believe; she had always treated
these men like they were my uncles; they had come to Easter dinner; she had
sent them Christmas cards.  Henry, in particular, had been an occasional
Sunday dinner guest after church.

   Al standing behind them could not be seen.  The three gathered to stand
in a line before her, Henry in the center.  Hank smiled at her and nodded.
Harry looked over at the workbench, assessing the tools and small packets
of jewels open for settings.  Henry, who is taller than the rest, looked
down at her from his height with a severe expression.  He looked at her
like he did not like her.  It hurt her feelings; she guessed with a sudden
guilty blush that the two Arthurs had told them what had happened.

   They did not speak, and Al said nothing.  He finally stepped from behind
them and sat at his stool.  He smiled at Karen, then looked up at Henry who
was not smiling, still studying my wife, considering her soberly.  Everyone
was waiting for him.

   Henry finally spoke: "I know you are my god son's wife."

   She nodded.

   "But that makes no difference," he said, leaning back on the stool.

   She waited.  He looked her up and down, like he was undressing her with
his eyes.

   She clutched herself like she was cold.  She asked apprehensively: "What
do you want?"

   He said: "We want you naked."

   Karen said she felt again a jolt of shame, and a sickening anticipation.
She did not want to do this.  She was certain now that I would find out. 
She looked for Al pleadingly, but he had backed away and abandoned her. 
She looked back at Henry.  She shook her head.  Al himself seeing her
pathetic look balked for a moment.

   Henry seeing this confusion and hesitation sighed and said: "No?" And he
stepped out of the line and Karen looked up at him sadly and blushing
speaks inaudibly, shaking her head.

   Henry stopped in front of her: "Take your clothes off, Karen."

   He stared at her hard.  She did not know what to say.  She shook her
head.  She looked like she might cry: "Why?"

   "Why do you think?"

   He approached her; she felt menaced but unsure what he meant to do.  She
thought he might strike her.

   She shook her head again, holding a hand up as if to fend him.  Looking
fiercely into her eyes.

   "Tell you what....  I'll help you." Henry turned her roughly about; she
faced the wall.

   He unzipped her dress in one sudden jerk and drew the dress off her
shoulders roughly and pulled it over the front of her and let it fall
completely to her feet

   He poked her bare back: "Step out of your dress," he commanded.  And
nudging her again, she awkwardly stepped to the side out of the pool of it.
He leaned and scooped her dress up and turned and tossed it over to Hank,
who grinned and said thanks.  He said: "Your welcome."

   She stood in her bra and underpants, barefoot.  Her hands raised folded
to her chin, looking at the floor.

   He said: "You want me to stop?" She said nothing.

   He said: "I didn't think you did.  "

   Henry deftly and easily unhooked her bra and swept the strap off her
right shoulder so that it feel down her arm and then lifted away the other
strap.  He did not need to tell her but she lowered her arms and let her
bra fall to the floor in front of her.

   Reaching from behind her, reaching around her lowered arms, he grasped
her naked breasts and fingered her nipples and felt the shape of her
breasts.  She stood still.  She said nothing.  She did not object or resist
him in anyway, Henry would tell Bob.

   He took his hands off her and stepped to the side of her, looking down
at her breasts.  She stared ahead fixedly into the wall -"ashamed, aroused,
anxious.  She said she felt an animal that had been cornered.

   "Not bad," he judged smugly.

   She was beginning to flush, showing pink, showing perspiration.  It was
warm in the room, but that was not the reason.  She had drunk a little
brandy before they came, but that was not the reason.

   She turned her face up to his..  He told her: "When you're ready, turn
and show the boys your tits."

   Henry later sent me a photo.  All of them had photos.  Al took several
and gave them copies.

   In the first she is in her underpants facing them.  In the second Henry
is standing beside her, lowering her underpants.  In the third she is
completely naked.  In the fourth she has turned her back to them, naked,
head to toe.





   "How 'bout you sit down here and spread open your legs for us."

   Hank took the cue and dragged a chair from a desk and put in the corner.
He paused to leer at Karen where she stood.

   Henry nodded at her.  She sat.

   Henry said: "Show us . . ."

   She spread apart her legs.  "Wider" he instructed.  Holding the chair
seat, she moved her legs wide apart, opening her vulva, showing the randy
hole.  She looked away from the camera just as Al took the picture.

   Henry sent me one of those too.

   "See?" Henry said to the men, "Like I said"





   Then speaking to Karen he taunted her: "You like showing us your cunt?"

   She said nothing.

   Hank and Harry then left Henry and came to stand over Karen.  She looked
up at Henry quizzically.  Harry and Hank felt her breasts.  She sat up,
stiffening.  Hank leaned to suck up her nipple and once it was wet toyed
with the erect nub he had made of it.  Hank felt her bare back, leaning to
look behind her.

   Henry continued his questions and comments.  Al was left out of the
whole action.  It was none of what he had expected or planned.  Henry
despised him.  He knew that.  Henry asked Karen: "So, who else are you
fucking besides your boss here?"

   She looked anxious and confused but she blushed at the accusation.  She
did not respond.  Henry stepped closer: "What other guys are you fucking?
Are you fucking that Mike fella?"

   Mike was the young bartender at Bob's bar, the friend of mine whom Henry
had seen her with, whom Henry saw putting moves on Karen when she came to
the bar with Al sometimes, whom he saw back in a dark corner near the
storeroom and ladies restroom, out of the light, pushing her up against the
wall, kissing her, a hand up inside her blouse, fumbling on her tits.  He'd
unsnapped her jeans, her underpants showed.  He'd work his hand down in
front.  Henry saw.  Karen told me she did not remember any of this; she'd
been too drunk, and she swore nothing had happened.  When Henry accused her
of this, she was mystified and hurt, which was ironic since here she is
sitting naked in front of my godfather and the best man from our wedding
-"legs spread wide for him and his buddies -"she was aware of her wedding
ring on her finger.  So was Henry.

   Henry continued his interrogation as she sat exposed obscenely: "How
long you been fucking Mike?"

   She shook her head, sadly, confused.

   "You're lying," Henry claimed.

   "I don't understand." She was getting hysterical.  "What is it that you
want from me?" she pleaded

   Henry closed in on her.  He stood over her, looking down, looking at her
teary eyes, her flushing cheek revealing her feelings as the men caressing
her aroused her sexually.  Hank had slipped his hand onto her smooth bare
thigh, caressing it and as Henry watched his fingers went to feel inside
her vulva, feeling the plump lips with the fingertips, then pushing three
fingers sideways he slipped them into her wet vagina.  Harry, leaning close
to see his work, was fumbling the nipple of her left tit while he massaged
her other tit with his other hand.

   Henry smiled sarcastically at her obvious sexual arousal.  She shook her
head.

   Henry said: "Al says you suck cock." He leaned and sucked up a nipple
and let it fall of out his mouth, wet, glistening." Is that so, Karen?  You
like sucking cock?"

   She shook her head.  Hanks, grinning, on one side of her, fingering her,
now slipped about and probed her soupy vagina, obviously slippery with her
excitement.  Meanwhile on the other side, Harry leaned in and squeezing her
tits to pop his nipples, mouthed her tits, wetting both her nipples with
spit, sucking them up to points.

   Henry said: "You're lying again."

   She shook her head.

   Henry slapped her face.  A sharp smarting to her cheek.  It shocked her.
She gasped.  Deeply hurt emotionally, she said, it was not that he hurt her
with his hand, though her cheek stung and showed the Mike, but he had found
her out, and obviously he did not like her; he called her a slut to her
face.  He did not like her, and he would use her sexually.  His intimacy
meant nothing tender or affectionate, like she thought of Al and even doing
the things Al wanted her to do for others.  Bt for Henry her sexual use or
abuse was completely indifferent to him, or rather, he meant to humiliate
her and to degrade her.

   He said: "You are a cock-sucking slut."

   Her hand on her warm cheek, she nodded tearfully.

   "Tell Hank here...  You wanna suck his cock."

   She looked at Hank who kneeling now was kissing her belly and rubbing
her clitoris.  He looked up, grinning.  She said it abjectly: "No."

   "Tell Harry too." He had risen from his slathering of her breasts and
stood feeling the one near him idly.  His erection bulged in his trousers.

   She saw it, looked up at his face: "Please..  no."

   "And when you're done with them, then you're gonna suck my cock."

   She shook her head.  She put her hand down.  Hank stood up and began to
take off his pants.  She saw his penis half-hard slipping its thick head
out under his jockey shorts.

   Henry, waived him back, pausing as she stared at the penis and added:
"Yeah and Al says you always let him cum in your mouth.  That so?"

   She looked back at him.  He repeated it: "You let him cum in your
mouth?"

   She looked up pathetically, still shaking her head.

   "Yes, you do.  I know you do, and you swallow it."

   She hesitated, then shook her head and defied him: "No."

   "You must like the taste."

   She seemed confused.  Hank was naked beneath his overhanging shirt.  He
was feeling his penis beside her.  She had been distracted by it: "What?"

   "You like the taste of cum," Henry asserted.

   She did not reply.

   Harry was naked now too beneath his overhanging shirt and Karen saw his
dick was different.  It intrigued her how differently looking were men's
penises when aroused -"or limp for that matter -"not just circumcised or
uncircumcised (like Al's) but in size, shape, color how different.  And how
changed when swollen for sex, some hard and curved up like a horn, some
straight-out like stiff sausage, some swinging like a rubber hose.  This
one, Harry's, was arched and hard as wood, it's glans like a bulb at the
head, its slit glistening with clear dew, beading pre-ejaculate; he brushed
her bare arm with it, leaving a trace; he leaned and pressed it against
her.

   And then she saw that Henry had also taken off his pants, and drawn his
erection from his undershorts, a long and skinny thing, like a length of
hose, that he stroked up and squeezing held at the base and poised for her,
presented to her face.  Drawn back to dangle, exposing his moist glans from
his drawn foreskin.  Put out for her mouth.  She glanced up at him; he
grinned; she understood.  She put her mouth on the glans and looked up at
his eyes.  And he began to masturbate, staring into her eyes.  While she
sucked his cock this way, the other men watched and masturbated also,
masturbating in anticipation of their turn.

   Bob told me the whole litany of this cynical and abusive set up to fuck
her face, calling her a cock-sucker, taunting her to confess it, and so on.
Karen did not deny the details.  I believe it was what really happened,
because I heard how Henry later doodled an illustration onto the door of
men's room toilet stall at Bob's bar and scrawled underneath it my wife's
full name and our actual phone number, calling her a "cum-sucking slut" who
gives blow-jobs for a buck and will take it up the ass for five.  I never
saw the graffiti myself, but some of my friends did.  I wondered whether,
after I left her, how many phone calls she got from this advertisement.

   Henry came in her mouth.  Hank came in her mouth.  Harry came in her
mouth.  One after the other.  She swallowed Henry's cum.  She swallowed
Hank's cum.  She swallowed Harry's cum.  One after the other.

   After she had quietly meekly swallowed Harry's cum, Harry stepped back
from her face and she looked up to see Henry had taken off his undershorts
and stood in front of her again.  She looked at his penis, wondering if he
meant her to take it in her mouth again.  When she leaned forward to do it,
he laughed at her and she looked up in bewilderment.

   He shook his head at her and smirked: "That's why he called you a
slut,."

   She felt ashamed again, humiliated again.  She saw Mr.  Miller looking
at her from his work stool.  He was leaning over, his elbows on his knees,
observing her feelings sharply, having watched her impassive wide-eyed
cock-sucking wryly, commenting on her swallowing cum with a demeaning
reMike.  She worried what he thought about her, but he smiled at her and
nodded affectionately.  She smiled back at him sheepishly.

   Henry took her by both hands and pulled her up to her feet.  He embraced
her, his hands on her buttock and looked into her uplifted eyes with a
cruel grin: "Now we're going to fuck you."

   His long skinny dick was pressed to her belly.  He said: "I'd kiss you,
but your mouth is full of spunk and that's just too nasty."

   He turned her about and slapped her buttock, commanding her to bend over
and grab and the chair seat.

   "I don't know how you can eat it."

   He positioned his penis between her spread legs and easily guided it
deeply into her ready cunt.  "And besides," he said, "I don't kiss whores."

   She felt his penis slip into her like it was a broomstick, poking in so
deeply she thought it went in as deeply as it felt -"up to her belly
button. She gestured to where she told me she felt it.  The feeling was so
memorable to her she did not see my dismay -"she was reliving it -"and she
did not think how telling me this so unguardedly was painfully shameful for
me.  This man who was like an uncle to me, fucking my naked wife like a
dog, giving her pleasure with his prick that I had never given her.  She
looked at me absently as she spoke of it, remembering the feeling acutely.

   And Bob for his part told the tale that the men told when they returned
to the bar that night, saying he got most of the story from Hank, who was
especially effusive and enthusiastic about it all and wanted to tell
everybody everything.  Henry, by contrast, had nothing to say and seemed
grim, even sullen.  Hank was the better storyteller of all of them anyway.
Harry just nodded to agree with what was said.

   It was a group of some of the same men who would come for the show.  In
fact, said Bob, Hank's story that night was the preview that sold them on
the show.  Otherwise, some thought fifty bucks was too steep a price to
pay. But here was a young wife who was unwitting and good-looking, had
great tits and was game to suck all the cocks they put to her mouth and
ready to fuck a whole crowd.  Hell, claimed Bob, you name it, she'll do it
for you.

   Henry fucked her hard for a good ten minutes.  Her cunt worked up a
lather.  She was hot, sweaty.  And the two other men stood beside her
fondling her bobbling tits or stepping up in front of her face to feed her
a cock to suck on.  When Henry shot up inside her, he grabbed her hips and
thrust hard and held her and she whimpered and weakened, and her legs
trembled.  He stabbed her with his cock a couple more times to complete
himself in her and her knees buckled, and he let go of her so that she
breathlessly knelt, catching her breath.

   Hank stepped up next.  Taking his cue from Henry, he spanked her buttock
smartly twice to make her get up on her legs and he pulled her hips back
and spread her wider because he was shorter and needed to enter her from
the best advantage of his height.  Karen described his cock like a fist. 
She could not take much into her mouth but the mashed head of it, and in
her cunt it felt like he was poking her with a fat end of a bottle.  He
came more quickly than Henry and she did not orgasm with him, but his prick
so rubbed her clit as it punched it's way in with his thrusts that she was
well worked-up when Harry stepped up behind her with his arching wooden
prick.  Not as long as Henry's.  Not as thick as Hanks.  But it was
slippery and quick and touched her in a way that the other's did not, and
she bucked herself wildly on his cock, making noises that astonished them.
And when he came inside her, she came.  She made a sound matching his own
-"girlish -"but also indecently loud and expressive.

   Henry had dressed even while Hank was fucking her.  Hank stood
half-naked watching intently.  When Harry finished, and my wife sank to her
hands and knees, Hank took her by the hair and twisted her about to sit
facing Al and looking at Al savagely he pulled her sideways to face to his
cock and made her suck him off one more time.  My wife raised her hands as
if to fend him, but she did not resist; she held her hands in the air,
sitting sideways on the floor, while he fucked her mouth.  When he was
ready to come, he announced it and though it was not much he relished the
look on her face, her blinking eyes, her noisy slurps on his last
ejaculation.  When he let go of her hair, she fell forward to her
outstretched arms, gasping for breath, and drooling a goo of saliva and cum
onto the carpet.

   Harry had dressed and Hank was dressing, while Henry said he thought she
would be ready for Saturday, but they needed to do one more thing.  "Every
pig needs to be porked," he said.  Al nodded.  She heard everything said,
but she understood none of it.

   After Hank dressed, Henry took out his wallet and took out a couple
dollars and put them down on the work counter.  Looking sideways at my
wife, who looked up sadly, "For your cock sucking, Karen," Henry explained,
"Buy yourself a pack of cigarettes."

   Hanks's story ends there.

   Karen told me during her confessions how they left her naked on the
floor and after they left Al comforted her, sitting beside her nakedness on
the floor, giving her drinks of brandy and water, stroking her and speaking
reassurances.  He thanked her.  He kissed her forehead.  He kissed her
hands.  He told her she had done everything he had hoped she would do.  She
sobbed in confusion, expressing how ashamed she was, and how she worried
about what Henry thought of her, but Al told her Henry was just anxious
that no one tells her husband.  Al made her say she never would tell me
herself.  And of course she agreed.

   Then Al coaxed her to fellate him and she did it for him with affection
and tenderness, but inevitably she compared his penis to the other men's
penises she had had in her mouth -"the feel, the size, and the taste and
texture and quantity of his ejaculate -"and she found him wanting and to
her shame -"to my own, as she told me -"she confessed she had liked the
taste of Henry's cum, tasting like seawater, she said.

   She did not get home until well after nine o'clock; exhausted, she went
right to bed.